


Caged Freedom

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Saved! (2004)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This was not how she wanted to remember the summer before college."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caged Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of fun, but I couldn't have done it without myst56 (Karrie), azuregray (Heather) and spybarbie (Claire). Thank you for the fabulous last-minute beta work! They assured me that Hilary Faye wouldn't lose her faith and that a different tact could be used to display her affections towards Brian. I owe the title to Imogen Heap's song "Sweet Religion".
> 
> Written for Athena

 

 

This was not how she wanted to remember the summer before college.

Her visit in the hospital lasted longer than she anticipated, after recovering from her break down, she had been kept in another ward for stress and malnutrition. They watched her meals, just like back home, before they moved. They seemed to note when she tucked the toast under the napkin, slipped the carrots under her blankets but never said anything at the time. Then they would arrange appointments for her to talk about her health, diagnosing her like one of the lost souls she arranged prayer circles for.

When she had asked that she at least be paired with a female roommate her mother just pursed her lips and reminded her that since Mercy House was undergoing some changes, this was the best they could do and she would just have to grin and bear it. Her parents were paying a lot of money for her to be kept in this ward for the month and she knew by now that she should appear grateful. Even when she got that handicap van instead of the car she wanted.

She kept the dividing curtain closed for three days.

It was on the fourth day that the incessant ticking caused her to snap and she pulled back the curtain with force so that she could ask the patient to shut up - politely, of course. The view revealed a thin boy, older than her but with the look of a kid who hadn't eaten for three days - or hadn't yet learned the blessings of Our Saviour. He had a pale complexion that stood out beneath the shag of muddy-red hair. She noted that his nose seemed a bit too round for his sunken face until she realized that his cheek and collar bones probably didn't use to stick out like that. He didn't turn to look at her even when she quietly coughed. He continued to count under his breath to the swaying needle of the metronome that rested beside his bed.

"Do you mind?" She asked imperiously, unable to comprehend why she had to suffer through this.

"Not at all," he answered, without moving his gaze from straight ahead at the opposing bed, "I need an audience to practice."

"What are you even doing?" She pulled the pillows up behind her so she could more easily see this nuisance.

He lifted up his hands from his lap, revealing intricate and complex movements that he eyes couldn't keep up with.

"Practicing," he replied, as if she had just asked him what he breathed.

She let out a huff of air and began rearranging her pillows, determined to ignore the annoying clicks from the boy who was too smug to talk to her.

"It's magic, you know," he spoke up, finally turning to look at her and she was disappointed that he only had cold, gray eyes instead of the fiery emerald ones she had hoped for, "I'm trying to speed up my slight-of-hand."

She tried to keep the incredulity off her face. She was here to be more accepting of people, even the unwed mothers that everyone in town seemed to now adore - but his look of triumph was just too much and she left her mouth slip into a sneer.

"You're insane, you know that, right?"

"Magic can be just as real as all of this science. They both act on faith."

"Please," she rolled her eyes, "don't talk to me about faith. You know _nothing_ about faith."

"Let me guess, you're going to show me the way?"

"If you want to turn off that broken clock, we can read a few passages together."

Now it seemed to be his turn to break his resolve as he tried to restrain a chuckle. She had been insulted for her beliefs before, but this felt more personal. This person just didn't respect God; he didn't respect _her_ for her belief in God. It hurt her more than she knew how to express.

"I'm Hilary Faye, the lead singer of the Christian Jewels." She tried not to wrinkle her nose when he gave no sign of recognition.

"Don't bother." He tried to say casually, blinking away what she thought had been a flash of hate in his eyes.

"At least tell me your name so I can add you to my prayers."

"What the hell - I'm Brian. Feel free to pray away!" He turned back to study his hands, impatient with his fingers for not picking up the latest trick instantly.

"Thank you Brian and--"

His face suddenly turned, interrupting her. She felt that his eyes were staring out the window above her, instead of making eye contact, "while we're at it, do you mind not praying out loud before every meal?"

His scorn was grating her and she wanted nothing more than to just go back to sleep. "Fine, I apologise for interrupting you while you're doing...whatever it is you were doing, okay?"

"Yeah, continue wasting your breath, that almost sounded sincere."

"Y'know normally, I'd tell you that I just feel so sorry for you but that it's not too late because Jesus loves you."

"What do you mean normally?" He looked up, suddenly interested in a way that made her feel small and scrutinised. She instinctively pulled the thin white sheet up higher.

"What? Nothing."

"Do I hear doubt?" He pressed on, like a child scratching at a wound.

She glared at him before turning on her side. "I mean that I'm here for exhaustion. Jesus needs me to take care of myself before I can properly focus on others again." Slowly, her hand moved to her throat, her fingers tracing the smooth grain of the cross necklace she wore, silently wondering why there had been no-one sent to take care of her.

Pastor Skip came every Thursday to counsel her, but she started to tune him out after the first visit. She had been a shining example of what the Christian thing to do was and it just landed her in a white bed instead of out checking out different Christian sororities.

It was after one particularly boring Thursday, when even the weather seemed depressed by his visit, when Brian spoke up again. "Why don't you tell him just not to come anymore?"

Distracted, she responded with a garble of vowels before remembering that she was trying to ignore his attempts to goad her.

"That guy with the lame catch-phrases, you don't even listen to him."

She turned to watch the rain slowly slide down the window, watching as the tiny rivers made new paths across the glass. "That's because I'm... praying."

"Alright, whatever, I just thought it would be easier."

"You're just sad that no-one has visited you in all the time you've been here. Y'know, if you accepted Jesus Christ into your heart, you would never be alone."

"And how's that working for you, your one friend being Jesus?"

She tried to focus on the rainbow that would invariably come after this rain passed and had to take two deep breaths before responding coolly. "I'm happy and I have a future to look forward to. This is merely a test of faith."

"Like being lost in the desert?" He drawled sarcastically.

"If you're going to make jokes -"

"Sorry, I...I just find it hard that someone who is my friend would do this or let this happen to me."

She looked at the Christian Jewel's pin that had rested on a piece of card next to her bed for weeks, the glitter faded and dull. "Sometimes," she said as she pictured Tia, Veronica and even Mary, "even without knowing it or wanting to, you hurt the ones you love."

Her parents visited once since they admitted her and tucked the scratchy wool blanket tightly under her chin. They assured her that everything would be paid for and her every whim was only a signature away since they had dealt with her momentary lapse into bad credit.

They had to attend a charity function in Washington, an event that really could not be ignored or missed, the children depended on their generosity too much and they assured themselves that she understood.

Roland came to visit her in the beginning, his face furrowed with concern that didn't suit him. She told him to stop after she noticed how his eyes were registering her form and it made her sick.

The awful thing was not knowing how he viewed her, but knowing that it was exactly how she had once viewed him.

She began to spend the majority of her time reading about Morocco, a fact that her neighbour seemed to pick up on rather fast.

"Why do you want to go there?" Brian asked one afternoon after the nurse had just left with the empty pudding cup that she had watched Hilary eat.

Without tearing her eyes from the page she was on, she explained that she was researching to save the heathens, _obviously_.

"What do you know about it?" He teased.

"I know that I should get back to reading."

The next week, when she returned from another counseling session, there was a travel guide to Morocco on her bed.

Two weeks later, he was leading her through the sterile white halls with an annoying sense of urgency that caused him to tug on her sweater every other minute. She dragged her feet on the floor, enjoying the slide of her socks on the cool tiles. "So what is this?" She snapped, "You going to take me dancing? Name a star after me?" She mocked lightly, hoping to conceal the trace of hope she hadn't realised existed until now.

Giving as good as he got, he turned to glare at her with feigned disgust. "Hardly. For one, you're not my type. Plus I'm already in love and I'm staying faithful."

Strangely, she found herself smiling, surprised at the sentiment, especially coming from you.

Seeming to note her shock, he merely turned a corner, tugging her along with him. His voice was proud as he announced that his love deserved nothing less.

Despite her attempts, her raised eyebrow obviously said more than she intended and he chuckled.

"My magic," he explained, with a touch of arrogance. "I'm in love with my illusions, and you don't cheat on a love like that. It stands the test of time."

She shoved his body with her shoulders into the wall, rolling her eyes. "Smart ass."

He stopped in the middle of the hall, spinning to look at her pointedly.

"Look, this isn't some didactic lesson where we both get reformed, life isn't like that." His eyes seared into her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable as the situation spun out of her control. "This is because I'm bored and you seem to know very little about the world."

She swatted his hand off of her arm, ready to stalk away when he whispered, "life isn't like that."

She paused involuntarily, in all her life; she had never really come to terms with the fact that life wasn't fair. That bad things can and do happen. She had spent so much time looking for silver linings, for exceptions and miracles; she forgot the biggest injustice of all. It wasn't fair for Jesus to have to sacrifice himself.

Life wasn't fair.

Without realising it, her feet carried her back to her bed so that she could slump down onto the hard mattress. She never did find out what he was going to show her that day.

Two weeks later and she found herself itching at the peeling skin on her shoulders - the consequence of her first day free of the hospital that was spent overindulging in the sun. Her face hovered over the board of their twenty-fifth and deciding match of Scrabble, almost ignoring the familiar beep in the background from her monitor. Her wrist was now free of her hospital bracelet yet she still felt comforted by the half light that seeped through the blinds.

Brian leaned past her to reach into the box with the extra letters, grabbing a meagre four tiles as she laughed. His long hair bushed against her shoulder and she felt the heat from his body so that when he pulled up to pause inches from her face, she knew her cheeks were flushed. He smiled and shifted in his bed to make himself comfortable again as he began rearranging the tiles, smirking as he did so.

For the first time since her baptism, she felt an unfamiliar little flip in her stomach that reminded her of the chapter on Rabat in her book.

She could now safely say that Morocco was a place that she wanted to go - and not just because of Casablanca.

 


End file.
